


Crimson Crisp

by SomebodyOwens



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Apples, First Kiss, M/M, and the eating thereof, fallen angel AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 05:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1766425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomebodyOwens/pseuds/SomebodyOwens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with an apple. Well, it started long before the apple, with an angel and a broken boy and a war, but this story starts with an apple.  It ends with an apple too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson Crisp

**Author's Note:**

> First there was [this mildly NSFW art](http://seplus.tumblr.com/post/87590146195/the-position-referred-to-a-cm-picture) and then there was [sirona](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sirona/pseuds/sirona) mentioning her need for a fallen angel Steve who falls to save Bucky AU and that deserves a giant plotty epic fraught with emotions. This is not it.

Steve's arrival brings with it his chorus of "Honey, I'm home!" and a swirl of air from the open door that does nothing to alleviate the cloying heat of the apartment. Bucky stays where he is, flopped pitifully across the bed after the mere act of acquiring a snack was too much exertion. Sunbeams steal through cracks in the blinds warming Bucky's already toasty skin. 

At least the apple is cold; Bucky had shoved them all in the fridge despite Steve's admonition that they would wrinkle too fast. He rolls it between his hands, the cold, smooth skin against his palms raising goosebumps along his arm. He squeezes his left hand a little too hard, fingers denting bruises into the apple just because he can.

Steve pauses in the doorway and Bucky takes a dramatic, showy chomp of the apple. The skin cracks under his teeth and he crunches the sweet fruit with great satisfaction. It's almost too cold and Bucky shivers once as he swallows, cool fruit tracing a line from his throat to his belly. Steve takes a step closer, so Bucky quirks an eyebrow and offers the apple to Steve, just barely resisting the urge to make a crack about how wrong Steve was on the refrigeration issue. Steve steps closer still, then folds to his knees next to the bed and reaches for the apple.

Bucky hesitates, suddenly aware of the symbolism and reluctant to drag Steve any farther down with him. A cloud floats across the sun and the sudden shade leaches all the jollity and blithe luxury from the room. Arguably, he has already ruined Steve's everything; if it weren't for Bucky, Steve would still be a savior for humanity, protecting the innocent and helping those in need. Instead, he's here, wings clipped and body scarred, kneeling on the creaking floor in some sort of twisted supplication to the cause of his downfall. 

Lost in his own head, Bucky flinches when Steve's fingers brush his own, but before Bucky can pull away and shake off the moment with a stupid joke, Steve curls his hand over Bucky's on the apple and kisses his forehead gently. His lips are dry against Bucky's flushed, prickling skin and he pulls away quickly, just an awkward brush of affection. Bucky tries to duck his head to avoid Steve's eye. He doesn't know whether to expect apology or that never-ending pity, but the air is heavy with unspoken confessions and every option is distasteful. 

Before he can escape, Steve catches Bucky's chin in his free hand and meets Bucky's eyes. There's a tiny frown crinkling across his forehead, but he isn't radiating the shame and pity that Bucky expects; it's something else, an intensity that Bucky can't define. Steve opens his mouth, then apparently rethinks his words and--still holding Bucky's gaze--brings their hands and the apple up to his lips. 

Bucky stays frozen, ensnared by Steve's gaze and abruptly feeling like a tiny thing Steve could easily swat away. Most days, Steve looks so normal (well, the pinnacle of human perfection, but still _human_ ) that Bucky forgets about the sigils burned into his skin and the fire raging behind his eyes. But now, sprawled wantonly across his bed, shirtless in the sweltering July heat, Bucky feels like nothing more than prey. 

He doesn't tremble, but it's a near thing. Steve parts his lips and drags his teeth against the apple's skin, biting into the fruit between Bucky's spread fingers. His sharp teeth skate against Bucky's fingers and he sucks delicately at the fruit, collecting the sweet flesh and tangy skin to crush them between his teeth. He blinks slowly and swallows. Bucky's chest pinches, sharp, and he gasps for air. His instincts are screaming at him to run before he is devoured too or before his stupid human lust tarnishes Steve or something. Anything. Just run.

Bucky stays.

Juice pools in the hollow left by Steve's bite and he laps at it, still holding Bucky's gaze. A single drip escapes his lips and he chases it down Bucky's now shaking hand, dipping his tongue into each crevasse and curling it around the edges of fused plates, seemingly unfazed by the metal under his lips. Bucky's own tongue recoils in sympathy, imagining the tinny taste breaking in to ruin the apple's sweetness, like biting on a tin foil wrapper. 

But Steve doesn't seem to mind as his tongue retraces its path up Bucky's hand and he nips at the apple again. A curl of hair flops into his face and Bucky, unthinking, brushes it away with his right hand. Steve take the opportunity to capture it too, ensnaring both of Bucky's hands beneath his own work-worn palms. He kisses the back of Bucky's metal hand, then slides his teeth along Bucky's other thumb and pulls the digit into his mouth. Bucky's free fingers stroke along the side of Steve's jaw, skin against skin in almost unbearably intimate contact.

Steve bites gently on his knuckle and then without warning sucks hard. Bucky's whole body goes cold then hot, blood pounding as he watches Steve, as awareness of everything except Steve's mouth on his hand fades away. He can feel the quiver of Steve's tongue, the smooth edge of his teeth, and the press of his soft palate as he swallows. Slowly, still laving at the pad of Bucky's thumb, Steve leans his head back until he pulls off with a pop. At the sound he grins, pleased, and Bucky's breath catches in his throat. His left hand, still anchored by Steve's, clenches and his fingertips dig into the apple.

Lips shining and cheeks flushed nearly as red as the fruit now crushed between them, Steve rocks farther back. Bucky's heart is thudding so hard that his vision is throbbing. He wants to chase Steve's lips, wants to reel him back in and layer his own kisses on Steve's skin, apologies for a thousand hurts and a million missed opportunities. He want to run, to fling himself out of the room and halfway around the world before he causes more damage. And he wants to spread Steve across the sheets and bow in benediction over that beautiful, scarred body. He wants to scream and cry and beg and rage at a world that would weigh his corruption more powerful than Steve's virtue but he's paralyzed, breathless and shaking, as Steve tugs his chin up again, eyes shining and mouth parted in a toothy smile. 

Their first kiss tastes of apples.


End file.
